Need To Hear Basis
by Meteoric Tree
Summary: Tag for "Open Season." Why was Gideon so sympathetic to the younger of the two homicidal hunter brothers? Could it have been because he looked so much like Reid?


Need To Hear Basis

Morgan watched as Gideon zipped the body bag up to the dead boy's shoulders, leaving it open just enough to see the deceased's neck and face. It was almost, Morgan thought darkly, like watching a father tuck his son into bed. His eyes narrowed as he watched the older agent stare down at the kid. The look in Gideon's eyes was haunted. It didn't take a profiler to figure out why.

"Gideon," Morgan called.

The older agent's head snapped up. Morgan had to fight the urge to wince at the expression on his friend's face. He looked, to borrow from the old cliché, like he'd seen a ghost. And Morgan had seen enough of this. He motioned the senior agent over to him. It wasn't necessary to fake the serious expression he always wore when he had something important and of a sensitive nature to tell another member of the team.

"What?" Gideon asked, stopping several feet in front of Morgan.

"Reid's back at the police department in Spokane," Morgan told him.

Gideon looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. "Yeah," he agreed after several beats when Morgan didn't start talking again.

"He's back where it's safe," Morgan said. Before he finished that sentence he saw it click in Gideon's eyes and knew the senior agent knew what this was about. He kept talking anyway. "Hotch is keeping an eye on him. Probably not letting him out of his sight if I know the man." And Morgan did know the man. It was their first case out in the boondocks since that fiasco with Henkel and they were all feeling it. Had been since the briefing on the plane.

Gideon simultaneously nodded and shrugged. "I know," he said trying to play it off like this was nothing he didn't know, and truth be told it wasn't. But just because he knew it was true didn't mean he could make himself believe. Gideon started to turn away, back toward the dead kid. Morgan grabbed his arm.

"Our boy is at the police department with Hotch," he reiterated. "He's not lying over there in that bag."

Gideon opened his mouth to respond then closed it and nodded. "I know," he repeated. And this time Morgan could see he knew it in his heart as well as his mind.

Morgan held his gaze for a moment then relaxed his grip on his superior's arm. "I'll finish cleaning up," he said and started toward the body.

"Morgan?"

He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

Gideon was careful only to look at Morgan and not let his gaze stray past him to the sack of black cloth on the ground some ten yards behind him. "Thanks. I needed to hear that."

Morgan nodded and steeled his nerves as he approached the body bag. He tried not to look at the dead kid's face – the dead _murderer's_ face, he reminded himself. The man in front of him had killed dozens of innocent people. Reid's kill count was up to a grand total of two: a sniper who'd had an assault rifle pointed at Hotch's head and a serial killer who'd tortured him, drugged him, _killed_ him, revived him, _made him dig his own goddamn grave_, then tried to kill him again. Reid and this kid, this murderer were nothing alike . . . aside from having the same longish brown hair and borderline anemic skin tone and the same terror filled hazel eyes and –

Derek had to turn his face away as he finished zipping the bag up. He could understand how this had gotten under Gideon's skin. Hell, he could empathize. The dead kid looked way too much like Reid to stay detached.

"He's not our boy," he reminded himself.

"Morgan," Prentiss said, suddenly at his elbow.

Morgan exhaled and quickly composed himself. "What?"

Emily held her phone out to him. "It's for you."

He took the phone and held it to his ear. "Morgan," he identified himself.

"Hey," a familiar voice full of oblivious calm said across the line, "Prentiss said you needed to talk to me."

"Reid," Morgan took a deep breath. He glanced at Prentiss who raised an eyebrow knowingly before turning to walk away. "How you doing, kid?"

"Well, I think I might have done something to upset Hotch," their resident genius said, lowering his voice. "He keeps staring at me, and it's like he doesn't trust me out of his sight."

Morgan couldn't help but laugh at that.

"I'm serious," Reid said, keeping his voice low. "Hotch is tailing me everywhere . . . but I have no idea what I did wrong . . ."

"You didn't do anything wrong, kid," Morgan tried to assure him.

"But –"

"Trust me on this one, okay? Aside from that paranoia, how are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Reid told him. Morgan could imagine him furrowing his brow in confusion. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason," Morgan said. "It was just something I needed to hear."


End file.
